


so many and sweet (if i had but said them)

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff and Humor, i've forgotten how to do without it uh oh, in fact it's probably a legit problem by now, teasing and snark galore cos that's how i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s like a giant 'fuck you' to proms all over the world," Bellamy muses with a note of awe, both eyes firmly fixed on the poster loudly declaring <i>'WHATEVER THE HELL WE WANT'</i> in bold, colourful capitals. His head tilts to the side in consideration."… I like it."</p><p>"Of course you do," she snorts, slamming her locker door shut. "It’s practically your life motto."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Bellamy forgets to ask Clarke to prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so many and sweet (if i had but said them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marauders_groupie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/gifts).



> inspired by [this tumblr post](http://vangohing.tumblr.com/post/142765511769), and also by the queen of llamas herself, [lana](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com/), a.k.a. the actual personification of an actual ray of sunshine. happy belated birthday!

 

 

 

 _So many and sweet: If I had but said them_  
_How glad my heart then would have been;_  
_What a dew of blessing would fall upon it_  
_As the day’s remembrances gather in_

 _-_ Lucy Maud Montgomery,  _The Words I Did Not Say_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**SIX WEEKS TO PROM**

The first posters go up announcing the theme for prom night. Bellamy scoffs loudly, bumping his shoulder into hers.

 

“Which idiot came up with _that_ ,” he says scornfully, shaking his head.

 

“Your best friend,” she replies calmly, pulling open her locker.

 

His head snaps round to face her, eyes widening comically. “Say what?”

 

She shoots him an amused glance, shoving her chem textbook in her locker carelessly. “Harper was high-strung, desperate, and, more importantly, deathly determined to avoid ‘Under the Sea’ at all costs. Miller helpfully suggested that the committee just do ‘whatever the hell we want’.” She barks out a laugh, pulling out her sketchbook. “She took it to heart.”

 

“It’s like a giant ‘fuck you’ to proms all over the world,” Bellamy muses with a note of awe, both eyes firmly fixed on the poster loudly declaring _‘WHATEVER THE HELL WE WANT’_ in bold, colourful capitals. His head tilts to the side in consideration.“… I like it.”

 

“Of course you do,” she snorts, slamming her locker door shut. “It’s practically your life motto.”

 

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he retorts, tearing his gaze away to grin at her as they start down the crowded hallway. “Hey, does this mean we get to pay whatever we want for tickets too?”

 

“Sure,” she says sweetly, elbowing him in the ribs. “Harper will probably just collect your balls as payment. You and every other smartass in this school, that is.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**FIVE WEEKS TO PROM**

They start a betting pool on whether Murphy will actually nut up and ask Emori to prom.

 

Raven and Miller immediately buy in when they hear. “That fucking coward? No way in hell,” Raven says, slamming down a twenty-dollar bill on the spot.

 

Surprisingly, Jasper and Monty put some money down in Murphy’s favour. “People can change,” Monty replies mildly in response to Clarke’s raised brow.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**FOUR WEEKS TO PROM**

Tickets go on sale on Monday.

 

The Murphy/Emori betting pool expands to include Harper and a couple other committee members.

 

“God knows we’ll need something to look forward to out of this hot damn mess,” Harper tells Bellamy solemnly.

 

Clarke kicks his shin under the table when he opens his mouth to reply, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**THREE WEEKS TO PROM**

 

On Wednesday, one of Harper’s prom committee members, a tall soccer jock named Lincoln, asks Bellamy for permission to ask his sophomore sister to prom.

 

Bellamy spends the whole of Thursday going on about it, nodding at everything Clarke says in her best reasonable voice before fretfully starting up all over again.

 

“Look,” she says, after re-reading the same line in her biology textbook eleven times, “if you’re so aggravated by this, why’d you even tell him _yes_?”

 

“Because I’m _cool_ , Clarke,” he says, wearing an expression of incredulity that makes her want to slap both his face and her own — though for vastly different reasons. “I have a _reputation_ to uphold.”

 

“Uphold this,” she says acerbically, flipping him off.

 

“Shut up,” he says cheerfully, flopping down beside her on her bedroom floor. “It’s like, eighty-four percent of why you even hang out with me. The other sixteen percent remains an intriguing mystery, unknown even to you.”

 

“Wrong,” she responds dryly, not looking up from her textbook. “You’re useful for getting through crowds. It’s probably the shoulders.”

 

There’s an extra beat of silence, and she glances up with a frown to see him already smirking mercilessly at her.

 

“Aw, Clarke,” he says, eyes glittering with amusement. “Always knew you had a thing for my _shoulders_.”

 

 

 

On Friday, Murphy tosses twenty dollars at Clarke. “To be clear,” he drawls caustically at her raised brow, “I’m betting _against_ myself.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**TWO WEEKS TO PROM**

On Tuesday, Raven catches them in the cafeteria and shoos Bellamy away with impatient flapping motions of her hand, telling him to _‘go bother Miller for five minutes, I need to talk to Clarke’_.

 

“We are going shopping on Friday,” Raven says with no preamble.

 

Clarke raises a brow. “Are we, now?”

 

Raven huffs pointedly, leaning in as if afraid to be overheard. “Kyle asked me to prom.”

 

Now both of Clarke’s brows are stretching high up towards her hairline. “Kyle _Wick_? From your AP Physics class?!”

 

“ _Shh!_ ” Raven hisses sharply, eyes darting around them warily. “Yes, him, okay?”

 

“You called him Kyle Dick for the last six months,” Clarke says, blinking blankly.

 

Raven shrugs unconcernedly. “You flirt your way, I’ll flirt mine, _capisce_? Look, are we on for Friday or what?” She frowns suddenly, grabbing Clarke’s arm impulsively. “You haven’t already got your dress, have you?”

 

“No,” Clarke replies, turning back to her food.

 

Raven’s face brightens. “Great, so we can head down to—”

 

“As in,” Clarke cuts in, stabbing at a limp piece of broccoli with her fork, “I’m not _going_ to prom.”

 

Raven stares at her, unimpressed. “Ha, ha. Hilarious as always, Clarke. Seriously, if you’re not gonna help—”

 

“What secret motive,” Clarke asks slowly, frowning at Raven expectantly, “could I _possibly_ have for lying about this?”

 

Raven blinks at her with an uncomprehending stare. “Aren’t you going with Bellamy?”

 

“No?”

 

“That’s impossible,” Raven immediately says, prompting yet another questioning frown from Clarke. “Bellamy’s going to prom, I’m _pretty_ sure. He wouldn’t go alone, because he thinks he’s such a big fucking deal.” She pauses, and they both roll their eyes.

 

Clarke shrugs, the motion a little jerkier than usual. “So maybe he’s going with someone else,” she says, forcing her voice to maintain its neutral tone.

 

Raven makes a sharp _‘pfft’_ sound, rolling her eyes yet again. “Yeah, right. Dude, are you _sure_ you’re not—”

 

“I’m sure, Raven,” Clarke cuts in wearily, trying not to sound as exasperated as she feels. “But, if you want, I’m more than happy to help with your own shopping. Friday after class?”

 

“Hey,” Bellamy says, reappearing at the table, his features stuck in a sort of dazed puzzlement.

 

Clarke sits up straight. He’s overheard them, she’s sure.

 

“Are you aware,” he begins, and she swallows the rising surge of nerves, “that my _sister_ is officially involved in the Murphy betting pool?! She doesn’t even _know_ Murphy!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**ONE WEEK TO PROM**

Clarke rips open a bag of microwave popcorn, emptying its contents out into a large bowl with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

 

It’s Saturday, and she’s fucking exhausted after the six consecutive hours spent the day before of following Raven round a million stores, looking for a dress and matching shoes for a prom that she isn’t even going to be attending herself.

 

If she’s being completely honest, she’s also a little pissed that Bellamy never even so much as texted her suggestions for hanging out this weekend. Not that they'd actually had concrete plans. It’s just that they pretty much _always_ see each other over the weekend, even if it’s just for a couple of hours.

 

That, plus the fact that he’s apparently going to prom with a date that isn’t her, and never even thought to mention it to her face — not _once_ throughout the countless times they’ve spent joking about prom over the last few weeks (or maybe just joking about whether Murphy will ask Emori to prom).

 

She’s not _mad_. Bellamy’s not her _boyfriend_ , or anything.

 

She’s not fucking mad, okay?

 

She pads into her room with her giant bowl of comfort popcorn to find her phone buzzing loudly on her unmade bed. Her mood sinks a little lower when she sees the name flashing up on caller ID.

 

“Hello?” she says sullenly, plopping down onto her bed and reaching for her laptop.

 

“Okay, this is totally my fault for forgetting to ask earlier,” Bellamy’s voice comes trailing in over the phone, sounding happy and excited and basically the exact opposite of everything she’s feeling right now. “But what colour should I wear to prom?”

 

She presses her lips together and inhales deeply through her nostrils, fervently reminding herself that it would not be a good idea to fling her phone against the wall. “Um,” she finally manages when she’s counted to ten. “I don’t know.”

 

There’s a rustling sound on Bellamy’s end, and she hears a voice in the background that she instantly recognises as his sister’s. “Okay well, O says we have to match, so what colour is your dress?”

 

“Huh?” she says, brows knitting together.

 

“What colour,” he repeats patiently, slightly slower and louder, “is your _prom dress_. The dress you’re wearing to _prom_.”

 

She clears her throat and sits up properly on her bed, popcorn forgotten. “I don’t have one.”

 

“Oh.” Octavia’s voice sounds in the background again, distant and faint. “Hang on, didn’t you go shopping with Raven yesterday?”

 

“I did, yeah,” she says, a flush creeping up her neck. “For _her_ prom dress.”

 

His voice is suddenly extremely muffled in a way that makes her picture him covering the phone with his hand as he talks to Octavia. “Wait, are you actually taking this ‘whatever the hell we want’ thing seriously? What are you wearing to prom, then? Jeans? Because I can match those easy, I don’t even have to—”

 

“Hey,” she interrupts, sounding about forty-seven times calmer than she feels, “yeah, um, since when are we going to prom?”

 

Silence.

 

She can hear the slightest crackle of static in the connection as she waits, bottom lip caught under her teeth.

 

“Shit.” His voice is almost a whisper, and she has to strain to hear him properly. “I forgot to ask you.”

 

She barely has time to register his words before he’s suddenly yelping _‘ow!’_ into the phone, a rough rustling sound cutting him off for a good five seconds before the line suddenly clears, Bellamy’s voice returning with a concise clearing of his throat.

 

“Clarke,” he says, a slight tinge to his voice that she immediately matches to the version of Bellamy she usually thinks of as the _I’m-totally-100%-cool-what-no-I’m-not-nervous-ha-ha-swag_ Bellamy. “Will you go to prom with me even though I’m a huge idiot who forgot to ask you properly?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says lightly, grinning widely to herself. “Not sure if you’re aware, but I have a _reputation_ to uphold.”

 

He laughs, the sound breathless. “Well, if it’s not too much to ask, could you use some of that influence to tell O to stop— _hitting_ — me— _ow_!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**PROM NIGHT**

 

He kisses her the second she opens her door, too keyed up to wait any longer.

 

His hand curls tight around her neck as their lips break apart, keeping her close. “I just thought— I wasn’t sure if you knew—”

 

She grins up at him, cocking her head playfully. “You don’t seriously think I hang out with you because you’re, quote unquote, _cool_ , right?”

  

 

 

Murphy teases them relentlessly the entire night, with Emori radiant and laughing on his arm.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i want to smush bellamy and clarke's faces together and passionately yell "JUST KISS" so bad. 
> 
> thank you for reading, as always! kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments will earn you my firstborn child.
> 
> (obviously not my ACTUAL firstborn child. 'cos that's....... difficult to arrange, really.)


End file.
